


what spring does with the cherry trees

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the back of Sansa’s mind, she’s always aware of how much more experienced Jon is than she. Not that he’s made a big deal of it, or even told her much about his ex at all, but there have been hints here and there that certainly led to some conclusions about how wild Ygritte was – groping under tables, handjobs in swimming pools, semi-public sex. He may have only had one girlfriend before Sansa, but he’d made the most of it. Maybe if Sansa had done more than kiss a few blokes before Jon – not all of them willingly, no less – she wouldn’t feel these twinges of insecurity.</p><p>But she hadn’t, and she does, which is how she ends up hopping into the shower to surprise him, only to surprise herself when the water hits her skin and makes her feel like she just jumped into the fucking Arctic Ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what spring does with the cherry trees

**Author's Note:**

> Based on **[this post](http://typicalfae.tumblr.com/post/106189978413/imagineyourotp-imagine-person-a-of-your-otp)** and **[typicalfae](http://typicalfae.tumblr.com)** 's thought that Sansa would be person A and Jon would be person B.

It had seemed like such a good idea. When Sansa woke to the sound of running water, the pillow next to her still warm and smelling of Jon, it had occurred to her that she could just pop into the shower with him. She’d been more than ready to go again, despite coming at least three times before they both fell asleep around dawn, the memory of which had made her blush and grin foolishly as she crept out of her bed towards the bathroom. And joining him in the shower had seemed like just the sort of thing a sexy, confident woman would do, and a sexy, confident woman is something Sansa very much wants to be. Jon has never made even a shred of a complaint – on the contrary, he's usually seemed pleased to the point of stupefaction every time they’d been together since all of this started – but he also wouldn’t be the type to say if he wanted something more exciting. In the back of Sansa’s mind, she’s always aware of how much more experienced he is than she. Not that he’s made a big deal of it, or even told her much about his ex at all, but there have been hints here and there that certainly led to some conclusions about how wild Ygritte was – groping under tables, handjobs in swimming pools, semi-public sex. He may have only had one girlfriend before Sansa, but he’d made the most of it. Maybe if Sansa had done more than kiss a few blokes before Jon – not all of them willingly, no less – she wouldn’t feel these twinges of insecurity.

But she hadn’t, and she does, which is how she ends up hopping into the shower to surprise him, only to surprise herself when the water hits her skin and makes her feel like she just jumped into the fucking Arctic Ocean.

“Motherfucker!” she shrieks, scrambling backwards away from the spray. Jon had looked over his shoulder at the sound of the shower curtain opening, a still-sleepy half-smile on his face, and he turns fully now, the smile sliding off as he blinks at her owlishly. He somehow still manages to look cute with his hair pasted down onto his head and a pink loofah in his hands. She’ll have to take the piss for that once she isn’t dying of hypothermia.

“Why is it so bloody cold?” she demands, intending it to sound far less whiny than it does. He cringes, as if only just realizing he’s taking a shower with the coldest water known to man, and turns to crank the hot tap as far as it will go.

“Got used to it in the army,” he says, holding his hand under the stream to test it. “Here, it’s warm now.” He catches her elbow to draw her forward under the spray, his knuckles inadvertently brushing her nipple, as she’s got her arms held tight to her chest protectively. She jerks in response, even with how cold she is, and she can tell by the way his mouth twitches that he’s trying to pretend he didn’t notice for the moment.

“You’re not in the army anymore,” she grumbles once she’s warmed up a bit. “You can use hot water now, no one will give you a demerit or whatever it is they do.” Jon chuckles, his hand sliding from her elbow to her back, drifting low on her spine and making her shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

“It also keeps me from getting right back in bed with you and making love to you all morning,” he says, his mouth twisting in that funny half-up half-down smile of his. He lets his hand slip lower as he says it, his fingers sinking into her bum with a casual familiarity that sets her heart thumping almost painfully. 

“Then I hate cold showers twice as much,” she breathes before leaning into him and licking into his mouth, where nothing’s cold, only hot and intimate and perfect.

The water’s almost more annoying than it is sexy. Strands of her hair keep washing between their faces and ending up in their eyes and mouths – it’s hard to keep completely out of the spray, after all – but Jon just laughs and kisses her more deeply each time, more sweetly, his thigh between hers both holding her up and driving her to madness with how it rubs against her, all hard muscle and wiry hair and wet skin. When she squirms against him and makes a squeaking sound, he drops his hands from her face to her hips and begins to guide her against him, her hips picking up a quick rhythm like she’s riding a horse. It’s a little embarrassing, but it’s more hot, and it feels too bloody good to even consider stopping. She comes with her back arched over his arm, hips still moving, and when he ducks his head to catch her nipple and suckle, she comes again in barely more than an instant, hard and fast, his thigh growing slick against her until the water trickles between them and washes him clean.

“There,” she says, her voice sounding as dazed as she feels as she loops her arms around his neck. “Isn’t that better than a cold shower?” Jon laughs, the sound vibrating through her belly where they’re pressed together. 

“Much,” he says. “Which is why I need to take them.” Vaguely, she’s aware of him pushing open the shower curtain and maneuvering her out, his arm under her arse boosting her up against him as he steps over the lip of the tub. He’s hard and hot against her belly and she can’t help wrapping her legs around him and wiggling, feeling him settle right where she wants him. He groans, sounding pained, something she notes with utter delight. He hesitates, seeming to contemplate his options, then turns away from the door to the bedroom and settles her on the counter, giving her only a moment to consider his intent before he’s got his hand between them, parting her with careful fingers and guiding himself inside. This time he’s as slow as he was fast before, pushing inside her and drawing out with such slow, deliberate motions that she could go mad. Each time he pulls away, he draws it out, letting the delicious tension stretch until she could sob from how desperately she wants him to push inside her again, to feel him thick and full inside her and against her. No matter how she tries to pull him closer, to urge him to go faster with her heels against the backs of his legs, her hands at his shoulders and in his hair, he resists. It’s only after she comes a third time that he lifts her again, staggers into her bedroom, and fairly tosses her onto the bed, following her down and ramming into her hard and fast until he comes too.

He’s been laying on her for several minutes, his weight almost heavy enough to be uncomfortable but not quite, when he raises his head to look at her. “In my defense, I’m fairly certain you knew that I take cold showers.” It takes her a moment to remember what he’s talking about, she’s so scrambled from what they just did.

“I suppose I did know,” she says, frowning in thought. “I wasn’t really thinking about it. I just wanted to be…” She trails off, suddenly embarrassed. 

“To be what?”

She bites her lip, wishing she’d never brought it up. Anything she could say would sound so childish. But she knows Jon, and he’ll never let something like this just slide. “I wanted to be sexy and spontaneous. Like, you know. Like Ygritte.” His eyebrows lift in surprise before his expression grows soft and fond. It makes Sansa want to blush and hide, or to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest.

“I’d rather you be sexy like Sansa,” he says, his voice as soft and fond as his expression. “Spontaneity welcome but optional. And luckily for me, you already _are_ sexy like Sansa, so…”

“Quiet, you,” she says, pulling him down to kiss him. He seems more than willing to oblige, and just when Sansa thinks she might get yet another orgasm out of this, he groans and rolls away, sitting up at the edge of the bed and reaching for his trousers, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t, he’ll just reach for her again. The idea is unspeakably thrilling, and it makes her feel daring and irresistible. He stands and yanks his trousers up, glancing over his shoulder at her and groaning again as he does them up.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” he warns. “Some of us have to work for a living and there are only so many cold showers I can take.” He winks as he says it, but that doesn’t stop her from sputtering in outraged protest.

“I work!” she says. “Just…not right now.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, ducking to kiss her forehead, his shirt and shoes in one hand as he tilts her chin up with the other. “I have to stop home after work but I’ll come by later with supper.”

“Hmph,” she huffs, tugging the sheet up under her armpits and making a face at him when he grins from the door. She’s glad she has _some_ dignity. It keeps her from begging him to come back to bed so they can pick up where they left off. At least there will be time for that tonight. By the time she hears him shutting the door to her flat, she’s already planning, imagining him walking in the door, following her trail of post-its to find her in the tub, the warmth of her bath steaming the mirror. She’ll have her hair done up fetchingly in a high jumble of curls, bubbles forming drifts on top of the water. Wait, no bubbles. They’d only obscure the view. _“Thought I’d show you how the other half lives,”_ she’ll say, smiling like a Sphinx. Yes, that will do quite nicely. Leave spontaneity to girls like Ygritte. Sansa will find her own path.


End file.
